


the luck of the irish

by theelusiveflamingo



Category: Crossing Lines
Genre: Crack, M/M, St. Patrick's Day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-18
Updated: 2015-03-18
Packaged: 2018-03-18 12:52:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3570365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theelusiveflamingo/pseuds/theelusiveflamingo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The ICC has given him reasons to look forward to this lifeless month that the Kripo never gave him.  He now has something to brighten his rainy days.</p><p>The luck of the Irish, he thinks.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the luck of the irish

One last click, one last save, and then he’s carefully shutting his laptop and sliding it into its case, then into the spot in his bag where it belongs.  Then it’s up the stairs and out into the rain, the chill and the ever-present puddles.

March in the Hague has turned out to be dismal, just as March in Berlin tends to be, and even for a man as well-acquainted with solitude as Sebastian, the dark nights are difficult.  They leave him missing things he was stoically determined not to miss ( _the way Kathrin frowned as she read poorly-scanned documents on her computer, the way she smiled when I remembered to bring her coffee with just enough milk when we worked late nights)_ and doubting things he’d rather not doubt ( _should I be here? Would I be better off back in Berlin, despite everything?)_   

But there are things he has here that he has never had before.  The ICC has given him reasons to look forward to this lifeless month that the Kripo never gave him.  He now has something to brighten his rainy days.

 _The luck of the Irish_ , he thinks, and rolls his eyes, but he feels himself smiling as he walks alone, and he doesn’t mind the feeling.

Back at his flat he changes up his routine.  Sitting in the dark with a beer and one of his glowing screens for company is just fine for a normal night, but it’s not a normal night, and Sebastian’s phone is vibrating insistently with drunken promises of a prompt arrival time.  So into the shower he goes, with razor and shampoo and new soap he’s bought just for the occasion.  The mirror is too foggy to get a clear view of himself when he steps out, but he feels sleek and he smells good and he’s ready _._ It feels strange to feel so eager. 

Sebastian’s sure Tommy will have some witty remark about whether it was possible for Germans to change up their routines waiting on the tip of his tongue ( _that tongue),_ but if Sebastian’s plan goes as well as all the programs he’s written, Tommy will be less inspired to  _talk_ than he will to, well, do  _other_ things with his clever Irish tongue, like suck Sebastian’s cock, perhaps—no reason not to be blunt about it.  Or talk Sebastian into sucking his.  There will be time for both, of course.  If there’s anything the rest of the world thinks Germans know how to do, it’s scheduling things efficiently.

At last, he gets a certain unopened package from where it’s been sitting for over a week now, and takes out the contents.  It wasn’t hard to find this online, nor was it particularly embarrassing, but for a moment Sebastian pauses.  Is this something he wants to do?  When is the last time he allowed himself to be objectified, vulnerable?  Willingly?  Well, at the least he’ll make Tommy laugh, and that’s worth something.  And as he slips on his purchase, he likes what he sees.

Tommy knocks on the door (even his knock sounds drunk, Sebastian notices, but he’s still come on time, because Tommy showshe cares without having to say it) and Sebastian swings it open.

Tommy takes a look at him standing there in the tight white briefs with a big shamrock right there in the center.

“Fuck’s  _sake_ , Berger,” he manages, before he bursts out laughing.

He’s still laughing as he steps forward and presses Sebastian into the doorframe, his leg already slipping hard between Sebastian’s thighs.  His laughter is sweet and rough, whiskey-scented.  Sebastian reaches between them, fumbling to press his cock up against the bulge in Tommy’s jeans. His laughter turns into a kiss.


End file.
